


Nobody's home

by underthesunlight



Series: Dare to Write Challenge [3]
Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Angst, Filippo has a lot on his plate, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Panic Attacks, Short One Shot, With a Hint of Hope, look after yourself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 19:27:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19116199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underthesunlight/pseuds/underthesunlight
Summary: It takes bravery to be yourself. Sometimes, it takes everything Filippo has and leaves him empty, scrambling to save the pieces of himself he shed on the way to safety.





	Nobody's home

**Author's Note:**

> this was beta'ed by the amazing loca-over-luca, thank you for being so kind ❤️  
> Happy reading!

Nobody’s home and Filippo Sava has never been more grateful for an empty flat and deafening silence. 

His keys drop on the floor, his hands shaking uncontrollably as he was trying to get them out of the lock. He can’t seem to get ahold of himself, everything grasping out of his control. Spinning out of control. Spiralling. Labored breath. Blood rushing in his ears. 

He needs to breathe. 

Most natural thing on earth, c’mon, he shouldn’t be struggling.

“Breathe.” he mutters to himself. “You’re the boss of breathing, you got this. _Breathe_.” 

His voice is shaky, barely above a whisper and it sounds harsh even to his own ears. He doesn’t have the patience to be gentle right now, he just wants to get past this. To leave it all behind. Feeling dirty, out of depth, scared out of his mind, fucking filthy. 

The roof. He needs to get to the roof. 

It’s outside but not… _outside_. Perfect for what he needs. Filo doesn’t have it in himself to go out again, not ready to face it all. 

**The roof is safe, you are safe.**

Safe, safe, safe, safe, safe, safe — becomes a mantra as he climbs the stairs. The door struggles against his weight for a second before it gives in and is sent crashing against the wall. The sound is sudden, violent, it stays up in the air for a moment before getting lost in the wind. 

Tears stream down Filo’s face as a laugh build itself at the pit of his stomach, going up and up and up and — it bursts. 

Painful. Wrenched from him in the most unpleasant way. 

Madly laughing to the tormented sky, menacing clouds of infinite nuances of grey and somber blue above him. It looks like a night in the apocalypse. Would it be worse? 

Maybe it is the apocalypse. 

Filo wonders, finds it strangely comforting that the weather matches his heart so closely. As he puts aside his flair for drama, he finds that it makes him feel seen. Heard. Like he exists — like he matters.  


Not so alone on the stairs to heaven. 

Fuck does he feel empty. His mind is running a million miles a minute but his train of thought is useless, not an idea sticking for longer than a millisecond. Pretty much everything comes to his mind and yet, not a single thought stands out. He’s incapable of remembering any of them. Useless. 

He finds himself lying down on the floor. The concrete, cold and harsh against his skin, somehow just what he needs. Racing heart that needs to slow right the fuck now— breathe. 

Filo still feels hands all over his body, pulling him apart, sharp, restricting his every move. Air air air — the voice, he cannot forget the voice. Can’t remember for the life of him what words were said, which echoed inside his head, what made his entrails boil and knot. 

How he had to raise his head, held the hateful gaze and be spiteful all the same. How he put his everything into that facade and powered through the confrontation. 

But the voice — he wants it out. 

The tears are back, streaming down his face. His body shakes with the violence of his sobs, it’s all so loud. 

“Shut up!” he begs, at himself or the universe as a whole, Filo isn’t sure anymore. Panic seeps through him, under his skin and up to his lungs. Can’t breathe, “stop, stop, stop…” he chokes in a sob. 

So loud.  
Too much, too much, too much, too much — crushed by the weight of the world, by so much hatred, by so much pain. Shame.

The thought ignites the dormant fire somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach. It grows and it builds and builds and builds — floods him entirely.

He needs to snap out of it, to fight back.  
They won’t have his pride, won’t touch his soul. He’ll be the free spirit his heroes have fought for him to be. 

**{b l a n k}**

***  
**  
*

Looking up to the sky and trying to slow down his racing heart. 

He can hear the neighbors bickering over their dinner and he gladly accepts that as a distraction from his own internal battle. 

He’s not sure how long he stays right there, listening to the wind blow and shivering underneath its touch. It feels good. He’s small and insignificant, a speck of dust lost to the universe — almost as if he didn’t even exist as a whole. 

It should be terrifying but the comfort Filo finds in the feeling doesn’t have a price, he’s breathing again. Not yet peaceful, he’ll have to wait for that.

He’ll find himself back, he’ll make sure of it. He’s gotten lost before and it will happen again. But he’ll get there. Find himself back. 

_Fragment by fragment._

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! I wanted to write a more serious piece and explore Filippo's character, the gay guru must have his low days and demons as well right? 
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts ❤️
> 
>  **written for n°144** : Nobody's home


End file.
